


Nar Shaddaa Rules

by arturas



Series: the light surrounding you [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (Video Games)
Genre: Atton is both oblivious and trying hard to be Good, Boys Being Boys, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Male Friendship, Pazaak Card Game (Star Wars), Pre-Relationship, and poor Bao-Dur is just so tired, men being idiots, the Exile is not a blatant enough flirt and Way Too Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arturas/pseuds/arturas
Summary: ‘You know,’ Jax says with a sigh, as they’re midway through yet another round of pazaak on route to the burgeoning civil war on Onderon, ‘I never understood why everyone made such a fuss over specifying Republic Senate rules. Every cantina in the sector runs the same way; I’m not even sure thereareother rules, even if you introduce credits.’An off-hand comment during a boring hyperspace jump somehow results in the strangest game of Nar Shaddaa rules pazaak Atton's ever played.Part of The Last to Know continuum, but can 100% be read as a standalone.
Relationships: The Jedi Exile & Atton "Jaq" Rand
Series: the light surrounding you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085324
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Nar Shaddaa Rules

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will learn the fine art of not turning crack scenes into multi-thousand-wordcount stories. Today is not that day.
> 
> Set in the same timeline as The Last to Know, before the cargo-bay incident. In other words: Atton is still oblivious to things, Jax is not as innocent as Atton is convinced he is, but when push comes to shove they're both a bit too proud to back down when they should (and a little too attached to how they think the other views them to do much to disabuse pre-existing notions). Post-Nar Shaddaa, pre-relationship; Atton's just started training in the Force and still figuring out how that all works.
> 
> Mayonnaise-level spice warning for (implied) past sexual situations and a bit of mild violence.

‘You know,’ Jax says with a sigh, as they’re midway through yet another round of pazaak on route to the burgeoning civil war on Onderon, ‘I never understood why everyone made such a fuss over specifying Republic Senate rules. Every cantina in the sector runs the same way; I’m not even sure there _are_ other rules, even if you introduce credits.’

Atton flips a seven, adds a plus-two from his hand for a safe nineteen, and nods for Jax to take his turn. ‘Guess you didn’t travel too much in your exile, huh?’

‘If by travel you mean gamble…’ The ex-Jedi draws, frowns, and throws his hand to the console between them in frustration. For such a patient and caring man Jax is rather short-tempered when it comes to gaming. At least when he loses. ‘Stars – best I can get to is a twenty-three. You win. _Again_.’

‘You’re too hesitant. You rely too much on negatives to get back below twenty once you’ve run over instead of playing early to get you there in the first place.’ Atton sweeps up the cards and starts shuffling. They’re not playing for credits (Jax is perpetually broke even without Atton cleaning him out at pazaak; he is awful at accepting payment from the various people he insists on helping and worse about giving money to those who look even vaguely in need) but it can’t help to at least _try_ to school him on the finer points of the game. Better pazaak than more meditating practice, at least.

Jax pouts, looking almost childish. He draws a fresh set of cards from his side-deck all the same. ‘I hate using my side-deck too early, though. What if my cards would be better used in a later round?’

‘Doesn’t matter if you can’t make it past the third round to begin with.’ Atton draws his own hand and starts the next game. ‘Anyway, there’s plenty of variants out there. Alderaanian Standard, Core Classic, Nar Shaddaa rules, Huttese Hold-Em–’

‘You’re making those up.’

He smirks. ‘Maybe, maybe not. Your start.’

Jax draws an eight, plays nothing from his hand. He’s smiling again at least. ‘So what’s Alderaanian Standard, then?’

‘Same as Republic Senate, no credits, but you can drop below zero. Kind of boring if you ask me, but that’s Alderaan in a nutshell for you.’ He’s careful to keep his tone even; the less he has to talk and-or think about his homeworld, the better. Just because Jax now knows about his time under Revan doesn’t mean he’s particularly keen on the idea of spilling his whole life story. He draws a nine and passes play back to Jax.

Jax draws another eight. He looks like he’s about to play something from his hand but eventually shakes his head and indicates for Atton to draw again. ‘Core Classic?’

‘One-round games for cash; you can wager extra credits between each draw. It’s mostly for high rollers.’ He draws a seven, plays a plus-four and stands.

Jax frowns at the twenty, draws, then smiles brilliantly as he slaps down a natural four of his own. ‘Hah! Draw. What about… Huttese Hold-Em?’

‘That one I made up.’ He scoops everything up in preparation for a reset as Jax snorts his amusement. ‘And Nar Shaddaa rules aren’t really cantina-friendly, you know, so –’

‘No, I don’t. How so?’

Atton raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re joking. Everyone and their grandma knows Nar Shaddaa rules.’

‘What can I say? The Jedi Enclave wasn’t exactly a gambling hotspot and my exile…’ Jax shakes his head like he’s trying to shake off a bad smell. ‘I wasn’t much for gambling. So what’s Nar Shaddaa rules, then? I don’t recall seeing anything different to the standard rules in that gaming den.’

Scattered memories of games that weren’t really games bubble up through Atton’s memories and he starts a secondary mental round of pazaak, just to be safe. For a moment he’s solidly tempted to lie and tell Jax it’s just another thing he made up; Jax is the most Jedi-like Jedi Atton’s ever met and he feels like he’d be dragging the man down to _his_ level to explain to him just what Nar Shaddaa rules actually are.

Then again, Jax _was_ a general _and_ the one responsible for Malachor, even if Atton still can’t really believe it. Even though he’s the most good-natured and almost innocent person Atton’s ever met he’s surely seen enough of the galaxy that Nar Shaddaa pazaak rules aren’t going to make him think Atton’s a _complete_ deviant.

He rubs the back of his head. Straight it is, then, with just a _little_ tweak to the non-clothing-related punishment to make it more… _generic_. Not really a lie, just sanitized slightly. Like most things that come out of his mouth. ‘Ah – yeah, you wouldn’t; like I said, they’re not cantina-friendly. Call it… street rules, almost. It’s Republic Senate rules, no credits –’

‘So exactly what we’re doing now, then.’

‘– but the loser of each round either drops a piece of clothing or the winner gets to take a shot at them,’ he finishes, unable to suppress a smirk as Jax flushes bright red.

‘Oh. _Oh_. I… uh, see what you mean about it not being cantina-friendly.’ He glances down at his side-deck as if calculating. When he looks back up, there’s a faint hint of something in his eyes that Atton actually struggles to place. ‘Well, we’re playing without credits already and this is hardly a cantina – maybe some stakes might actually get me playing well enough to beat you. Though we probably shouldn’t shoot in here…’

X-rated memories crash headlong into the image of Jax’s eager, beatific smile and his smirk drops entirely. Atton takes back everything he just thought about Jax’s worldliness; the ex-Jedi couldn’t have missed the point of Nar Shaddaa rules harder if he’d tried. Maybe he should’ve kept with the original wording of “give them a forfeit” instead of the vaguer “take a shot” (even if that was one of the more common forfeits to offer)…

‘Maybe we could punch each other instead?’ Jax offers, like he’s serious about it. ‘Actually – do you still have those Exchange stunners? They would work well, I think.’

…on the other hand, Atton’s not sure he has it in him to explain to Jax that the point of Nar Shaddaa rules is to play as little pazaak as possible, let alone use the “punishments” as motivation to win. And if he’s hesitant on that then he’s _definitely_ not up for explaining to Jax why stun batons are both an incredibly appropriate yet horribly inappropriate weapon of choice.

This is a bad idea. Like, a _really_ bad idea, and he’s had some pretty awful ideas in his life. But it’s a bad idea that sounds much less humiliating than the alternative and, look, bad idea or not it’s still _Jax_ he’s dealing with. Things can’t get _that_ out of hand.

‘You’re sure?’ he asks, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. ‘Winner gets to choose if you disrobe or take the hit, and if you don’t do what they choose it’s a double penalty or forfeit…’

Jax beams at him, like playing strip-fighting pazaak is something a Master and padawan normally do together. ‘Absolutely. There’s no motivation to try without stakes, you know?’

His friend is an idiot. A naïve, kind-hearted, far too innocent _idiot_ and if it wasn’t for the fact Atton had vowed to protect him from the day they met – and that technically he’s Atton’s Master – he’d slap the man upside the head himself.

Then again, he doubts he’s going to come out of this on the losing end of things. Jax has only taken two rounds off him in the last fifteen minutes. Given he’s the only one present who’s aware of the _point_ of Nar Shaddaa rules, as long as he doesn’t give the game away, worst-case scenario Jax might actually get a bit better at pazaak. And if Jax ever _does_ find out the real use of Nar Shaddaa rules… well, it’ll just be something Atton can rib him for demanding to play. He’ll call it even for all the stress he’s had to deal with protecting Jax from his own good-natured self.

So he smirks, reaches under the pilot’s seat for said Exchange stunners and places them on the middle console with a _snap_. ‘Fine then – just remember, you asked for this.’

Jax returns the smirk with interest and leans forwards. ‘And you agreed. Starting fresh?’

‘Absolutely.’ The deck’s ready in record time and Atton deals the opening round with a flourish worthy of any Core cantina dealer: a ten for him, a six for Jax. ‘You first, since you’re so confident.’

Jax smiles, surprisingly rakishly, and draws: another six. ‘Your turn.’

Atton pulls a five, toys with playing a plus-three, decides against it. Despite himself he can feel his pulse rising – stakes are stakes, no matter if there’s physical gratification on the line or not. ‘You.’

Jax draws a seven and stands.

Atton draws a four, plays a plus-one and grins at Jax’s immediate and obvious annoyance. ‘First round to me,’ he drawls, sweeping the cards aside. ‘I’ll be nice and go easy on you… boots off.’

Jax’s eyes flash fire. He removes his boots anyway. ‘Is there a larger penalty for losing the game?’ he asks, as the second boot is set (politely and neatly) aside.

Atton’s only played Nar Shaddaa rules to the point of finishing an actual pazaak game once and he’s certainly not about to tell Jax to perform _that_ forfeit so he shrugs his shoulders and makes something up on the spot: ‘No, but we can do double penalties if you’d like.’ His memories are far from unpleasant on the usual kind of penalty he’d offer but this situation is significantly different (to say nothing of just who Atton’s currently playing with versus the kind of people he’d _usually_ be playing with). He’s not about to explain – look, he already feels like he should douse himself in cold water just for _thinking_ about such things in Jax’s presence, never mind going over the specifics with the man. Especially since Jax is treating the whole thing like a means to improve his pazaak game rather than the poor excuse for foreplay it usually is.

‘I suppose most games would involve blasters sooner rather than later,’ Jax demurs, and draws the opening set: a six and a seven, for him and for Atton respectively. ‘No, round-to-round is fine. Your move.’

Atton’s not about to correct him. He draws a three and passes play.

Jax draws a two.

Atton draws a nine, briefly regrets he doesn’t have another plus-one in hand and stands.

Jax draws a ten, grimaces, and asks, ‘What happens in the event of a draw?’

It’s something he’s never actually encountered in a game using Nar Shaddaa rules, so he shrugs again: ‘No penalties for anyone.’ He’s always been good at improvisation.

Jax nips at his bottom lip and plays a plus-one. ‘Draw, then.’

‘What do you know; you’re learning.’ He resets the game quickly: seven-four. ‘Who’d have thought all it’d take would be the threat of nudity or violence?’

A light flush scatters across Jax’s cheeks as he pulls a five. ‘I’m sure credits would have worked too.’

Atton snorts, drawing another seven. ‘I doubt it. You’d have to borrow some of mine to begin with.’

‘I have credits of my own!’ When Atton raises an eyebrow at him, his flush deepens. ‘Not a _lot_ , but some… ah, six makes fifteen; your turn.’

He pulls an eight, switches the face of his plus-minus three and stands on nineteen.

Jax frowns, then scowls when his next draw is a ten. ‘I swear you’re stacking this.’

‘I don’t need to. Socks.’

Jax peels off his socks and tucks them neatly into his boots. The man even _disrobes_ politely. Atton’s not sure whether to feel guilty or relieved that Jax is oblivious to the usual purpose of the game. After a moment of deliberation he settles somewhere in the middle: at this point, explaining would be incredibly awkward but between keeping a straight face and trying to ignore memories of past pleasantries he’s finding it difficult to play like this is an _actual_ game of pazaak.

Maybe he should’ve agreed to practice his meditation after all. Then again, Jax will probably enjoy playing against a slightly easier opponent, right?

Jax sets the field (ten-nine) and motions for Atton to go. He’s still a little flushed – apparently he’s broker than Atton thought. Oh well. It’s not as if they’re headed to Onderon to go shopping anyway.

He draws another nine. Neither of his remaining cards are twos; he’s tempted to stand but he’s still got a minus-five ready to go, so instead he passes play.

Jax grimaces, draws, and then his expression morphs to delight as he throws down a plus-three alongside a seven. ‘Twenty!’

It’s Atton’s turn to grimace. It’s a strange sensation – normally he’d be quite fine with losing a round of Nar Shaddaa pazaak, if not actively trying for it – but he masks it and draws his last card as if he’s not worried at all.

‘That doesn’t look like a two to me,’ Jax says with a grin as Atton morosely flips over an eight. ‘Got a minus-six up your sleeve, or are you taking off that jacket of yours?’

Atton rolls his eyes but doffs his jacket all the same. He’s surprised but not displeased to find that the cockpit doesn’t feel as cold as it usually does – the Force, maybe? Or maybe it’s just Jax’s presence; it’s not the largest space to begin with and things always seem a little warmer whenever he’s around. ‘That’s only the third round you’ve taken in the last twenty minutes. I’m not worried.’

He’s still not worried when Jax manages to take the next round nineteen to eighteen and he loses his own boots, nor the round after which sees Jax lose his robes. The following round they draw on twenty; Atton’s still not worried when he loses his gloves in the next set (he will admit he’s not playing as well as he could be, but it’s getting Jax to use some proper tactics so he’s okay with not trying too hard).

He does, however, start to worry a little when Jax loses the round after that. For as frequently as he imagines smacking Jax over the head for being so irresponsibly good he doesn’t _actually_ want to hit Jax with a stun baton, but Jax _is_ starting to run low on items of clothing and Atton doesn’t particularly want to order him to get naked either.

…how did he end up in this situation, again?

Atton taps his cards into a neat pile, tossing up options in his head. ‘Shirt,’ he finally says, because “let me hit you with an electrified stick, Jedi” hits a bit too close to what he used to do for a living for him to be comfortable with it. Different if Jax chooses that, of course, but he’ll let his friend be the one to make that call. Fostering off responsibility onto someone else is much easier than figuring out whether he’s more attached to his dignity or Jax’s (strangely high despite everything) opinion of him.

To his surprise Jax pulls off his shirt easily (folding it neatly to place on the floor by the rest of his clothing, of course). He’s not wearing an undershirt beneath and Atton has to fight not to grimace upon seeing the various scars that cover his chest.

Jax raises an eyebrow. ‘You thought I’d tell you to hit me instead?’

‘I know I told you not to play so hesitantly but that was with a different set of rules,’ he quips, dealing out a fresh game.

The ex-Jedi shrugs with a wry smile. ‘Even if I hadn’t been trained a Jedi, I served for years. And I _met_ you in my underwear.’

Atton snorts at the memory. ‘True, but these chairs haven’t been cleaned since we picked up this hunk of junk.’

‘Do you make that much of a mess in here?’ He runs a hand through his hair and Atton can’t help but feel the slightest twinge of jealousy at how well-muscled the man is. Or at how heroic he makes those scars look. Without the billowing shirt he normally wears Jax looks like nothing so much as a holomovie action star and it doesn’t matter how many cracks Atton makes about his own good looks, he still can’t help but feel ugly next to the man. Inside and out.

Atton shakes his head, trying to pull his concentration back to the game. It’s a lot harder than it should be. ‘Not in _that_ seat, but hell if I know what the previous owners got up to. Eight, minus three makes nineteen; standing.’

Jax flips a six with a smile. ‘Twenty. Come on over to the shirtless side. Unless you’d rather take the hit?’

‘I’ve seen how hard you can hit. Pass, thanks.’ He pulls his overshirt off and hangs it over the back of his chair, on top of his jacket – he served too, and though he still feels oddly self-conscious despite still being in an undershirt he knows that even if Jax notices he won’t make a fuss over it. He can always chalk it up to the state of his singlet (more than one questionable stain and at least one fraying hole) if he has to. ‘For now, anyway. I reserve the right to change my mind if your lucky streak continues.’

The next three rounds go Atton’s way and Jax loses his belt, meditation band (Atton’s feeling very generous with his definition of “clothing”) and trousers without batting an eyelid. Then Atton goes bust, draws and gets beaten nineteen-eighteen in quick succession, and he finds himself facing near-nudity a lot sooner than he’d anticipated.

He’s blaming old habits. He’s never played Nar Shaddaa rules to _avoid_ getting naked before.

‘You have to be kidding me,’ he says bluntly, when Jax plays a minus-six to hit a twenty over Atton’s nineteen. ‘Who’d have thought stripping would make you _better_ at pazaak?’

A faint flush appears on Jax’s cheeks but he grins victoriously anyway. ‘Maybe it just makes you worse. Trousers off, please.’

‘No kidding.’ He scoops his cards up with a grimace but does as instructed (with only a few seconds’ worrying over whether his underwear has holes in it or not before determining that they do not, at least not where Jax can see). ‘Right; the kiddie gloves are coming off.’

‘So you’re saying you’ve gotten yourself this naked deliberately?’

‘That’s not what I –’ he pinches the bridge of his nose, ignoring the heat building in his cheeks. ‘Okay, yes, that’s what I _implied_ but it’s definitely not what I _did_.’

Jax laughs as he starts the next round. ‘I suppose I’ll just have to take your word on it. Eight and seven makes fifteen for me – your move.’

Atton draws, double-checks his math and lays the cards down with a smirk. ‘Nine and four. Go.’

Jax pulls a four. He sits back, arms folded, a very smug grin on his stupid action-hero face. ‘Standing. Let’s see those kiddie gloves come off now.’

‘Just watch me,’ Atton retorts. His next card’s a five and he grimaces before drawing his third card – it’s a four, and he plays a minus-three to match Jax’s nineteen.

He could stop there. He _should_ stop there; quitting while he’s ahead is how he’s kept most of his winnings (and probably more than a few limbs) as it is. But it’s not as if they’re playing for credits and Jax still looks so insufferably smug that Atton can’t resist reaching for the deck. Besides, he’s got a good feeling about this – by this stage of the game, the deck’s been thinned out a fair deal, so the chances of him pulling the card that he needs is… well, high enough that he’s going for it.

Jax raises an eyebrow disbelievingly; a silent challenge.

Atton flips a two, smirks and plays his last held card: a minus one. ‘You were saying?’

Jax turns a colour somewhere between a Sith’s lightsaber and a particularly violent sunset. ‘You – I’m not training you in the Force so you can pull things like that!’

‘Force nothing; that’s just good old-fashioned pazaak skills and some scoundrel’s luck,’ he counters. Probably, anyway. He’s not particularly invested in finding out otherwise (it’s only been a few weeks since he started training under Jax and look, honestly, he’s okay with learning the Force to protect the man but he’s still not sold on the “becoming a Jedi” aspect of things just yet, no matter how good a Sentinel Jax thinks he’d be). Belatedly, he realizes that this means he’s the one setting the forfeit, and Jax is down to very, _very_ little clothing indeed. ‘So… does this mean I win, or –’

‘Not a chance.’ The ex-Jedi folds his arms and juts his chin forth defiantly; he’s far too stubborn for his own good. Or Atton’s good, for that matter. ‘We’re far from done here.’

Atton folds his arms in response, trying desperately to mask the conflict currently rampaging through his head. In the end his conscience wins out over his self-loathing, though only barely: ‘Fine. Underwear off.’ And because he’s not one to back down from a challenge either, he adds, ‘If you’re up for it, anyway.’

To his surprise, Jax doesn’t strip – instead he smiles. ‘You said the loser could refuse for double penalties, right? Hit me.’ And because he’s a good man but still the biggest idiot Atton’s ever known, he adds on a contemptuous: ‘If you’re up for it, anyway.’

Atton eyes off the batons. ‘You do remember what I used to do for a living, right?’

‘ _Used_ to. We had a whole conversation about that, if I recall.’

‘Oh, we did… but you’re _asking_ for this.’ He picks up a baton and thumbs the stunner on, sending a crackle of electricity across the weapon, and can’t help but smirk a little when Jax flinches. ‘Unless I’ve misunderstood?’

Jax tenses but refuses to back down. He meets Atton’s questioning gaze resolutely, giving a not-entirely-confident smirk of his own. ‘I said: hit me. If you can.’

Let it never be said Atton struggles to follow orders.

Ignoring the old memories in his head that tell him to hit the Jedi hard and low he instead jabs the baton forwards like a bantha prod, for minimal contact and minimal force. It lets off a sharp _crack_ when it connects with Jax’s bicep; Jax hisses and jerks back, rubbing his arm. ‘That _stings_!’

‘It’s a stunner; what did you _think_ it was going to do?’

‘It usually doesn’t feel so sharp.’

Atton can’t help but snicker. ‘Usually you’re wearing more than just your underwear when someone hits you with one.’ He puts the baton back on the console. ‘Tell you what, I’ll be nice and not take the second shot.’

Jax frowns. ‘But that’s not how the game’s played!’

Atton is _incredibly_ tempted to point out that if they were playing the game as intended they’d have stopped actually playing a long time ago but it’s a little late for that. He bites down a jab about masochistic tendencies (he is almost certain Jax will need an explanation and he is _not_ having _that_ conversation right now) and instead raises an eyebrow. ‘You _want_ me to hit you again?’

‘It’s the rules, isn’t it? We should play the game how it’s meant to be played.’ He offers his arm again, already tensing up. ‘Come on – hit me.’

His friend is an idiot. A rules-abiding, golden-hearted idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. A brief surge of fond protectiveness rises in Atton’s chest but it’s not _nearly_ enough to make him actually back down from such a blunt challenge.

Atton shrugs, says ‘Suit yourself,’ and – after reminding himself that he’s not actually out to cause pain and it’s _okay_ to be inefficient because this _isn’t_ an interrogation session – plants his second shot a little above and to the side of the first.

Jax doesn’t jerk back quite as much this time, though he still rubs his arm with a wince as he goes to reset. ‘I suppose a jab as opposed to a full strike probably focuses the sting more, too…’

‘Can’t say I’ve done a lot of research on it.’ Technically, not a lie. He flips an eight for him, a nine for Jax, then draws a four. ‘Makes the blow hurt less at least. Go.’

Jax draws a two.

Atton pulls a five and plays nothing; he’s down to a single minus-four in hand, while Jax still has two side deck cards ready to go. It’s not ideal but he’s come back from worse situations before.

Jax then has the audacity to draw a one and grin – _grin_ – when Atton pulls a four. ‘Standing?’

For a moment he considers it but with those two cards in hand, a seventeen is almost certainly not going to be high enough to take the round, so Atton shakes his head instead. ‘Draw.’

‘Suit yourself,’ Jax mimics, and his grin only grows when his next card is a goddamn natural eight. ‘Standing on twenty. What do you think – will that luck of yours hold up a second time around?’

He’s afraid he already knows the answer but it’s not going to stop him trying. With a grimace he draws, hoping against hope that he pulls a three or a seven or _something_ in between –

It’s a ten.

God kriffing _dammit_.

‘So does this mean I win?’ Jax asks, with _far_ too smug a grin on his face.

Honestly, it probably should. Ending the game here means Jax won’t end up naked, he’ll get to keep his singlet on _and_ he’ll have escaped without getting beaten. But Atton will be damned – _damned_ – if he lets Jax walk away the victor of a pazaak match against him. _Especially_ this one.

Atton narrows his eyes and stays as flippant as he can manage. ‘As you said yourself – not a chance. What’s coming off?’

Jax’s grin settles down into a smirk. ‘Actually,’ he muses, reaching for a baton, ‘I think I might hit you this time. You know – keep things even.’

‘The point of a game is to win, not draw,’ Atton says flatly. He leans back in his chair without argument anyway; at this point he’s exactly one loss away from having to ask to be hit himself and unlike Jax he’s more than willing to reduce the number of hits he takes by any means available to him.

Briefly, he wonders if Jax is only hitting him because he can sense Atton’s discomfort at the idea of taking the singlet off. He wouldn’t put it past him. He’s certainly not about to be upset if that’s the case; it’d be the first time that Jax’s too-good-for-his-own-good nature was making things _easier_ for him.

‘Not just to get better at it?’

Atton smirks. ‘By “it”, do you mean pazaak or getting hit with a stunner?’

Jax presses the trigger, menacing him with the baton. He’s probably trying for intimidating but between the fact he’s in nothing but his underwear, the fact he’s holding the baton like a lightsaber, the fact that his “intimidating” expression looks more constipated than much else and that in the end he’s still _Jax_ , the net effect is more amusing than scary.

Atton merely grins at the frown that results when he doesn’t so much as blink, let alone flinch. ‘So now that we’ve established my sabaac face is better than yours too… you going to hit me, or what?’

A faint flush steals across Jax’s cheeks. ‘Since you insisted,’ he mutters. He draws back his arm, whips the baton forwards, and before Atton can ask him what the _krif_ he’s doing he jabs the baton straight into Atton’s gut and pulls the trigger.

Cards go flying as Atton doubles over, cursing up a storm – ‘ _Stars_ , Jax, what’d I ever do to you?’ he groans, rubbing madly at the new electrical burns on his stomach. Even once the baton’s withdrawn it feels like he’s still being poked with it. He didn’t hit the man nearly hard enough to warrant a gut shot, he’s sure of it –

‘You hit me twice and it wasn’t that bad!’

‘Yeah, but I aimed for your _arm_ , not your _stomach_!’

Jax has the grace to look somewhat embarrassed. Atton can almost feel his guilt (or maybe he actually can – is that something he can do with the Force? Questions for later). ‘I figured it’d hurt less if I aimed for the fabric… are you okay?’

It’s a somewhat logical conclusion, he admits. To be fair it’s not as if Jax’s training would have focused on how to _maximise_ the pain he was inflicting. As messed-up as the idea of training five-year-olds with lightsabers sounds he can begrudgingly accept that Jax’s Jedi training would have been less… _sadistic_ than his assassin’s training, even if the average five-year-old could give any assassin a run for their money in the terror department, never mind a five-year-old with a lightsaber. And it’s not as if he can begrudge the man for not knowing the finer points of sadism – their current situation is proof that _that_ kind of knowledge is _well_ out of Jax’s scope, even if the man’s own nature wasn’t proof enough.

Atton pulls his hand away from the site with a grimace. He can already see two pink burns on his stomach through the new holes in his singlet. ‘Lesson number one in beating up half-naked people,’ he says, reaching for the second baton. ‘The stomach hurts. It doesn’t matter if there’s fabric there or not unless it’s armour. There’s only a couple places that hurt more and if you’re aiming for _those_ then you’d better be fighting for your life. If you’re trying to play nice aim for thicker skin, like on their arms –’ he taps Jax’s bicep again, only a _little_ harder than he needs to, ‘– shoulders –‘ another tap (and he’s nice enough to avoid the bone, though Jax still makes an affronted noise) – ‘the top or outside of their legs, or straight in the middle of an ass cheek. _Not_ the stomach. Unless you _want_ to hurt them.’

‘You just hit me twice!’ Jax protests, rubbing his shoulder.

‘It was instructional! The stunner was off and I barely tapped you.’

Jax raises his baton again. ‘Then I’ll barely tap you.’

‘If we’re going blow for blow then I owe you a gut shot,’ Atton counters, moving his baton to a defensive position.

The ex-Jedi eyes the weapon. Eventually he smirks and meets Atton’s gaze confidently. ‘I don’t think it hurts as much as you’re claiming.’ An invisible presence grips Atton’s wrist and before he has the chance to break the hold Jax strikes, landing two solid shots to his arm and shoulder. They’re not proper blows – he’s seen Jax almost break bones unarmed, never mind the damage he can do with a melee weapon – but they’re a hell of a lot stronger than the ones Atton threw at _him_.

Atton rubs his shoulder and scowls as the hold’s released. ‘Let’s test that theory, then,’ he says, and when he jabs the activated baton into Jax’s stomach he doesn’t hold back nearly as much as he previously did. Just because Jax is his friend doesn’t mean he’s going to pull punches _all_ the time. Especially not if Jax started it.

Yeah, okay, that’s probably a bit pettier than a typical padawan would be but he doubts a typical master would insist on using Exchange stunners in a game of Nar Shaddaa rules pazaak to begin with. Being petty is about the least of his concerns right now.

Jax yelps when the blow connects, sending his own cards scattering across the console and for a second Atton feels guilty – warranted or not he didn’t truly intend to really hurt him – but within seconds the ex-Jedi is looking up again, teeth grit in a half-grin and one eye open, and the guilt dissipates almost immediately. For a moment Atton has the strangest idea that it’s not entirely his own doing but he’s distracted from that chain of thought when Jax speaks again: ‘That was _way_ harder than I hit you.’

‘It only seemed fair to at least match those “taps” of yours.’ He gives his friend a smirk. ‘Looks like it hurt just as much as I told you it would, though.’

‘As if. It just caught me by surprise.’

‘ _Sure_ it did. Let me hit you again then, see if it doesn’t hurt just as much.’

Jax snorts, planting his feet on the ground and his free hand on the arm of his chair. His voice drops, his tone hardening: ‘I’d like to see you _try_.’

Atton narrows his eyes.

Jax tosses his head; a non-verbal _Well?_

There’s a very, very faint voice at the back of Atton’s mind that says this is an even worse idea than the one that got him into this situation in the first place. Then again, in for a credit, in for a cargo bay full of smuggled goods and he will be _damned_ if he rolls over and caves now.

‘You asked for it,’ Atton says, and fires his baton up again.

Within ten seconds the game of pazaak has been forgotten entirely. Shortly after that so has the idea of staying in the chairs, sticking only to the batons, or using any kind of restraint.

‘Using the Force is _cheating_!’ Atton grunts as they roll across the floor of the cockpit – he can feel Jax trying to pull the baton out of his hands. Instead of resisting he moves with the tug to land a solid shot to one of Jax’s legs and the pressure vanishes.

Jax whips his own baton at Atton’s side and scores a painful hit (both of them gave up on jabs about five seconds after the fight migrated to the floor). ‘Using Echani training is cheating!’ he counters, and yelps as Atton uses said Echani training to flip him onto his back yet again.

‘It is not – you’ve been training with the handmaiden!’

‘You trained for _years_!’ The ex-Jedi rakes his baton across Atton’s chest, trying to force Atton off him. ‘I barely know _half_ the moves you’re pulling!’

His chest hurts like hell but Atton is both tenacious and blessed with a decently high pain tolerance (or at least the ability to keep fighting in spite of said pain); he grits his teeth and lays into the nearer of Jax’s arms, doing his best to ignore the shots Jax is landing on his torso. ‘And you’re – a damned Guardian; _you_ trained for years! Since – _krif_ (Jax rammed the baton into his ribs) – you were a kid!’

Jax Force-shoves him up and rolls out from underneath him, then launches himself into Atton’s side. ‘ _Ex_ -Guardian!’

Atton wheezes as he’s slammed against the side of the console. Jax is on top of him before he can catch his breath. ‘Weapons Master, then!’ he grunts, using his free arm to shield himself from Jax’s rain of blows as he tries frantically to land a solid enough shot to get Jax off him (Atton might be the taller of the two but it’s a near thing, and Jax is definitely more solidly built). ‘And that was _cheating_!’

‘You flipped me first!’

‘Yeah, with my _body_ , not the _Force_!’

Jax grins as he knocks Atton’s baton aside far enough to get a hand to Atton’s shoulder. ‘You’d do it if – _Force_ (Atton gets a sharp jab to his inner thigh) – you could!’

Atton doesn’t see fit to respond to that. Mostly because Jax is _probably_ right, but he’s not going to give the man the satisfaction of hearing it.

Jax drops his full weight into the hand on Atton’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground, and draws back the baton with a victorious grin on his face.

Atton bares his teeth in defiance and fires up his baton for a do-or-die strike to Jax’s stomach – he’s well past playing nice now and those rib shots _hurt_.

Then, as Jax swings and Atton lunges, the unmistakable _hiss_ of the cockpit door opening sounds.

Jax freezes mid-swing, his victorious expression instantly morphing to the very picture of “I can explain” as he jerks his head around to face the door, and Atton is suddenly hit with the realisation that he’s lying in his underclothes on the floor of the cockpit, Jax is in _only_ his underwear on top of _him_ , and their current position and situation is about the furthest thing from a friendly game of pazaak as possible.

Well. Maybe not for Nar Shaddaa rules, but he’s never had a game end up like _this_ before.

He really, really hopes it’s just one of the droids. Sadly, judging by Jax’s expression he doesn’t think they’re going to be that lucky, and looking over to the doorway confirms it.

‘Why,’ Bao-Dur asks slowly, in a tone of voice that suggests they’ve both lost their minds, ‘are you beating each other with stun batons without any clothes on?’

Before Atton can interject Jax offers a hesitant, ‘We were playing Nar Shaddaa rules and shooting seemed excessive…’

Bao-Dur raises one thin eyebrow. ‘Nar Shaddaa rules.’

He really should’ve just bit the blaster and suffered through explaining things to Jax at the start. It would’ve been less humiliating than _this_.

‘He insisted,’ Atton says desperately, giving Bao-Dur a look that he really, really hopes comes off as _this isn’t what it looks like_. Well, it kind of is, but not like _that_. ‘He wanted to play for stakes and didn’t have credits, said it was basically what we were doing anyway –’

‘I was under the impression Nar Shaddaa rules required playing pazaak at some point.’

‘It _started_ with pazaak,’ Jax says, wincing as he realizes the full extent of their current situation. ‘We… may have gotten a little carried away.’

‘ _We_? Excuse me, mister “hit me again” –’

‘There’d be no point to having stakes at all if we just ignored the forfeits –’

‘Hey, I was trying to be _nice_ –’

Bao-Dur sighs, wearily, and reaches down to take the stun batons from their loosened grips. ‘These,’ he says, ignoring their protests, ‘are staying in the garage until the pair of you can be trusted to not draw blood with them. If you _really_ want to play Nar Shaddaa rules, stick to blasters and shields or bare hands. You know.’ He looks directly at Atton, more than slightly accusatorily. ‘Like it’s _usually_ played.’

‘He was the one who suggested it!’ Atton protests (and oh, he is _immeasurably_ thankful that he was already flushed from exertion – he just hopes that Jax is continuing to miss the implications, otherwise he might as well just space himself now).

Bao-Dur shakes his head and turns on his heel. ‘If you say so. Atton, medpacks are in the left cupboard of the medical bay. Please don’t get blood in the main console; I would not like to have to pull it apart while we’re in hyperspace.’

Jax looks down at Atton and blanches. ‘Oh – _oh_ , Atton, I am _so_ sorry –’

Atton looks down himself and grimaces: his singlet is tattered, smeared with blood (thankfully mostly his by the looks of it, though he can definitely see a few cuts on Jax), and now that the adrenalin’s fading he’s not entirely sure Jax hasn’t fractured some of his ribs. Never mind the pink electrical burns now scattered across his body either, or the bruises he can already feel forming practically _everywhere_.

‘It’s okay,’ he offers as Jax climbs off him. He knows full well that Jax is far too good a man to let petty satisfaction override his own guilt and, look, when it comes down to it the situation is maybe just a _little_ bit Atton’s fault too; he’s not going to let Jax take all the blame on himself. ‘Really. Hurts, sure, but you’re not looking too much better yourself.’

Jax glances down at his torso. There’s a few burns and maybe a couple of strike-marks but the only blood there is Atton’s. If anything, he just looks _more_ like a holomovie star now.

‘Figure of speech,’ Atton hastily adds. He congratulates himself on keeping the sour note out of his voice. ‘Besides, it’s not the _worst_ I’ve come out of a game using Nar Shaddaa rules. And –’ he winces as Jax helps him to his feet; if those ribs aren’t fractured then they’re definitely bruised – ‘while you might’ve won the brawl, I won the pazaak, so we’ll call it even.’

‘But I won the last round!’

‘Maybe, but I’ve got more clothes on.’ He looks down at his singlet again with faint dismay. ‘Well – just.’

Jax frowns, but then sighs and gives Atton a tired grin. ‘Call it a draw. Now let me see what I can do before we have to get dressed to head for the medbay.’

The thought of having to pull clothes over his newly aching body is extremely unpleasant, so Atton shrugs and sits down (only a little unsteadily) in the pilot’s seat. ‘I won’t say no. Guess it’s one way to get some practice in, hey?’

Jax chuckles as he begins inspecting the damage. ‘No kidding.’ As he starts channeling healing energy through Atton’s ribs, he tilts his head, thinking. ‘I have to ask, though… what did Bao-Dur mean by how it’s _usually_ played with bare hands?’

And just like that, despite all his efforts, Atton’s still found himself on the losing end of things.

Maybe he’ll suggest sabaac next time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever seen a pair of teenagers (or small children...) go from casual shoulder-cuffs to full-on fistfights with smiles on their faces you probably saw where this fic was going well in advance - this may or may not have been inspired by my own brawls with my sibling and friends when we were all younger, minus the stripping part! Boys will be boys, even if they're old enough to know better... and even if one of them went into the situation hoping for a somewhat different ending. (Kind of goes without saying that the 'adult' sequel to this story will 100% be appearing as a chapter in the smut collection for this series, but I had way too much fun letting these two just be goofy kids for a bit.)
> 
> If it wasn't blatantly obvious, the pazaak variants Atton's describing are 100% made up. Wookieepedia had a brief description of Nar Shaddaa rules as players removing clothing or "holding a blaster to avert potential cheating" but I kind of doubt things really stopped there.
> 
> As a bonus side scene:
> 
> Mira, _this_ close to ripping her hair out: Let me get this straight.  
> Mira: They were in the cockpit. Together. Playing Nar Shaddaa rules pazaak. They got down to their underwear and then –  
> Bao-Dur, completely done with everything: Proceeded to beat each other with stun batons until they drew blood, yes.  
> Mira: And not in a sexy way?  
> Bao-Dur: Atton needed a medpack.  
> Bao-Dur, slightly concerned: …there’s a sexy way to hit someone with a stun baton?  
> Mira, already walking off to find Jax and chew him out for being such a _dumbass_ , _stars_ : Yeah – you get half naked, you get _them_ half naked, and then you don’t make ‘em need a kriffing medpack!


End file.
